


Der Sjambok

by RoterSand



Series: Ausländer: Die Oliver Geschichte [2]
Category: Rammstein
Genre: BDSM, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:35:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22617988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoterSand/pseuds/RoterSand
Summary: Oliver deals with Schneider, who is annoying everyone.
Series: Ausländer: Die Oliver Geschichte [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1626487
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	Der Sjambok

**Author's Note:**

> **Ausländer: Die Oliver Geschichten** is a collection of short, independent Oliver Riedel stories. Setting: Rammstein is on a remote island for a new recording project.
> 
> This story is a gift for my friend **Tora**.

“Schneider, can you put that damn thing away?” Paul whined; his normally smiling face turned into a frown.

Of course, Schneider didn’t comply. Instead, he pulled one of his ‘I’m going to hit you, and I’m going to like it’ faces that he had taken a liking to while filming the band’s latest music videos, and hit the air in front of Paul’s face once more, getting dangerously close to the guitarist’s nose. “Full control,” the drummer bragged, “I am a drummer, I know how to handle a stick!”

The stick in question was a twisted sjambok, a heavy leather whip that that had been brought to the island as a possible prop. As soon as Schneider saw it, he had claimed it. The drummer had always been a little restless, often tapping his fingers or his drumsticks on whatever surface he could, and a whip was just another thing to play with. He carried it with him everywhere, and worse, he kept snapping it in front of everyone and thought he was awfully cool while doing so.

“Gut?” Schneider grinned, and turned to Oliver, who had yet again been asked to film his whip skills, as the drummer really wanted to make sure they made it into a future video release. Oliver tried desperately to avoid rolling his eyes, so he just looked at the drummer and nodded. He had his own theories about where Schneider’s love for whips came from. Back in the day, they had a photo shoot with Scarlet Page for Kerrang in mostly leather, lacquer, and latex. One of their props was a bullwhip, but Schneider had not been interested and let Paul, Till, and Richard pose with it.

His days as Frau Schneider and the crop had changed that. When Jens Koch had brought a whip for the photo shoot for promotion of their untitled album, Schneider had been all over it. Flake had worn a face mask and was in a leash held by Till, who had put a harness on top of his red turtleneck. Oliver rarely engaged in such things. Put on something red and black, had been the instruction, and he so he had worn comfortable, loose, black pants and a hoodie with red text on it.

Oliver preferred to stay in the background, which is what he did also for that photo shoot. From there he observed his band mates fooling around, having their harmless fun. Until Schneider had cracked the whip and hit the ground right next to Flake’s hand on the floor. A surge of anger had risen in his chest from the blatant recklessness, and before he knew it, he had told Schneider to stop it before he injured Flake’s hand.

A slightly miffed Schneider had laughed and told him that he had full control. As if drummers magically gained the ability to use any hitting implement, not just drumsticks. Though he had stopped using the whip close to the other band members. But here he was again, this time with a sjambok, feeling even more confident as the whip was significantly smaller and less unruly than a bullwhip. Yet Oliver had filmed too many situations where mere luck had prevented the drummer from actually hitting someone. Schneider was just not open to criticism of his newfound whip skills.

Oliver felt annoyance rise in him again. Deciding to take himself and his camera away from the situation in the hopes that Schneider would then stop, Oliver started walking in long strides towards his hut. He had, of course, chosen the one furthest away from all the others, and some peace, quiet, and privacy seemed like a good idea.

Schneider had other plans. Just as Oliver had opened the door to his retreat, the drummer came running up to him. “Olli! Are you going to edit the clips you did now? I want to watch them!” he demanded, barging into the hut.

“I was planning on relaxing,” Oliver replied as he entered, leaving the door open in the hopes that Schneider would take the hint and see himself out.

He didn’t. Instead, he went straight over to Oliver’s coffee maker. After putting it on, he plopped down onto a chair next to the bassist’s laptop, and looked expectantly at him. This time, Oliver did not even bother to try and hide his annoyance. Rolling his eyes and shaking his head, he sat down, fired up his laptop, and hooked up the camera. Soon after, Schneider and the sjambok showed up on his screen. Oliver noticed that Schneider looked visibly disappointed at how silly he looked in the shots.

“You know, it’s a shame you have that thing when you clearly have no idea how to use it,” Oliver remarked dryly, leaning back in his chair.

“I have told you I have full control!” Schneider angrily jumped up from his seat, pointed the sjambok at the bassist, and started whipping it frantically in front of his face. “I know how to use a…”

The sound of a whip hitting skin filled the hut.

Oliver felt a sharp pain by his left eye. Something started trickling down his face, and he knew it was blood. Brushing two fingers across his eyebrow confirmed it.

In front of him, Schneider had frozen, sjambok still in his hand, mouth wide open, eyes displaying shock and fear. “I… Olli, I’m so sorry,” he stammered.

Slowly, Oliver stood up from his chair and headed to the bathroom to check out the damage. It was just a minor cut just at the edge of his left eyebrow. The wound bled quite a bit, as usual for cuts in that area, so he cleaned it quickly and used two medical strips to keep the edges together.

When he returned to Schneider, the drummer hadn’t moved. Oliver sat back down in his chair, leaned back, and studied the man in front of him. Schneider still stood in the same spot, looking lost and defeated, hanging his head in shame.

“Please don’t tell the others,” he almost whispered.

Oliver raised his eyebrow. “Then how am I going to explain this?” he asked, pointing to the stripsed wound.

“Just make something up. Maybe you walked into a – door…” Schneider facepalmed at his own suggestion.

The bassist couldn’t suppress a small laughter. “I guess I could make something up,” he mused. “But only if you…”

Schneider looked up at him, hope in his eyes. “…if I what? I’ll do anything,” he begged.

“If you let me show you how to use the sjambok.” Oliver could almost see the gears inside Schneiders head shift to understand the implications of the statement. He held out his hand.

“So you… How… You know how to use a whip? But you never said anything…” Oliver had to smile at the classic confused Schneider look.

“You never asked.” The bassist stretched his hand out a little more. Reluctantly, Schneider gave up the sjambok to his younger friend. Oliver tapped it a few times against his palm. It seemed to be of good quality leather, fairly stiff, but flexible enough to be snappy, almost like a cane. Sitting up straight, he flicked his wrist to test it against his own thigh. The sjambok provided a good sting. Oliver was pleasantly surprised.

“How much experience do you have? And don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.” Oliver had a calm, but serious expression on his face.

Schneider went beet red. He slumped down on the chair next to him. “That obvious?” he asked, wringing his hands nervously.

Oliver nodded. “But maybe just to people who have some experience themselves,” he offered as a small consolation.

Schneider took a deep breath. Then he came clean. Oliver listened with interest as his suspicions were confirmed by the drummer. As expected, he had close to no experience using a whip himself apart from his Frau days, but he had been on the receiving end a few times, and he had liked it. After he was done with his confession, they both fell silent while Oliver considered his options.

“So,” he said after a short deliberation, “you agree then, to let me show you how to use this properly…” – he smacked the sjambok against his palm – “…as punishment for you hitting me in the face?”

The drummer nodded.

“I need to hear you say it,” Oliver demanded.

“Ja.”

Oliver stood up and gestured for Schneider to do the same. The drummer complied. Taking him by the arm, Oliver lead him over to the kitchen table, closing and locking the door on the way. He grabbed a pillow from one of the chairs, and placed it on the edge of the table.

“Pull down your pants.”

The expression on Schneider’s face changed to one of shock and discomfort.

“I don’t have x-ray vision. I need to see what I’m doing. Pull them down.” Oliver patted his colleague gently on the butt.

The band members had seen each other naked many times, but for some reason, Schneider suddenly felt shy. He looked beggingly at Oliver, but the younger man had an air of authority that he couldn’t remember having witnessed before. Reluctantly, he did as asked, unfastening his belt and dropping his khakis to his knees, revealing a pair of blue Superman briefs.

“Superman has to come down, too,” Oliver said, suppressing a giggle.

Even redder than before, Schneider decided to just get it over with. In one quick motion, he pulled his boxers down to join his pants, then he more or less threw himself across the table out of embarrassment.

“I will start slowly to get a feel for the implement. This is important whenever you use something new. If you need me to stop, for any reason, you can call out ‘Frau’. You think you will remember that, or do you want a different word?” Oliver asked.

“Frau. I will remember. Come on, Olli. Just do it, okay? I don’t feel like this is the best learning situation, really,” Schneider whined.

“Oh, I do hope this will teach you a lesson,” Oliver replied. Placing his left hand on Schneider’s lower back, he lifted the sjambok and whipped it in the air two times before he brought it down on the drummer’s naked buttocks. The sound of leather meeting naked skin was pleasant, but the whimper from Schneider was even better.

Oliver had not hit hard, but the whip still left a lovely red stripe straight across the drummer’s pale butt. He lifted the sjambok again, and repeated the motion. Another beautiful whimper. Another red stripe. Taking his time while using very little force, he covered Schneider’s backside with red stripes. The drummer had kept making sounds, but he seemed to enjoy it more than getting deterred from future stupidity.

The bassist decided it was time to up the intensity. “Enough warm-up. Time for your punishment.” He flicked his wrist and the sjambok snapped down onto Schneider’s butt with a lot more force. This time, the stripe was fierce red.

“Fuck,” Schneider hissed through clenched teeth, only to receive another hard stroke that made him flinch and instinctively twist his body.

“Position.” The strictness in Oliver’s voice made Schneider do as he was told, and as soon as he did, the sjambok connected with his body again.

The searing pain made tears spring from his eyes. Gripping the edge of the table with both hands, Schneider gritted his teeth as Oliver thoroughly whipped his naked bottom, making sure not to break skin, focusing on the soft parts with the occasional hit to the tender sit spot.

When Schneider started sobbing quietly, Oliver stopped. He put the sjambok down, and gently stroked the drummer’s hair as he finished crying. “I was an idiot. I’m sorry, Olli. I could have hit you in the eye, fuck, I could have blinded you,” Schneider said in between sobs.

Oliver’s voice was mild. “But you didn’t. And now you learned not to fool around with things you cannot handle.”

Helping his friend stand up, Oliver pulled Schneider into a warm hug. Leading him to the bed, he let the drummer lie down while he went to the kitchen to fetch the coffee Schneider had put on earlier.

“How do you feel?” he asked, putting a mug down on the bedside table for his friend.

Schneider hesitated. “I…” he started. “I mean, it hurt, but not in a bad way. And now I feel a lot better. I realise how annoying I must have been. I need to apologise to the others.”

Oliver just smiled, and took a sip of his coffee.

“But Olli… Please don’t tell the other guys about this,” Schneider asked quietly.

Oliver put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Our secret,” he smiled.

“Thank you, Olli. You’re the best.” Schneider smiled back at the bassist, and picked up the coffee mug to take a small sip. Then he let his body relax against the soft pillows.

Seeing Schneider calm and content, Oliver sat down on the bed next to his friend, and the two of them drank the rest of their coffee in pleasant silence.


End file.
